


Tipping Scales

by SpaceAceAmeko



Series: Samsara [3]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: M/M, The Nightmare King ending, tags to be maybe eventually added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-05-02 10:11:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19196740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceAceAmeko/pseuds/SpaceAceAmeko
Summary: In his palm rested a locket that started it all. Carefully he wipes the layers of dust off the silver top, eyes following the detailed carvings of a dragon. With nimble fingers, Jack pops it open at the clasp, roughened with disuse and dust and with the same gentleness he wiped off the dust off the photograph lovingly placed in the locket. His heart ached as he noticed how Seraphina held her father’s eyes, the depth of black of his hair, the shape of his brow.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Hello again! Welcome to another (and final) continuation of Samsara: Tipping Scales! (The Nightmare King edition)_

Jack grumbles as his consciousness comes back in small waves and the first thing he notices is that the bed was no longer warmed by a particular body next to his. Curiously, he pats the empty spot by him, smoothing his hand across the sheets. It was cool to the touch, which meant Pitch hadn’t been here a little while, Jack’s cool body taking over the bed. 

 

Jack glances about the room as he slowly brings himself up on his elbows. 

 

_ Empty. _

 

Jack feels a little disappointed, because he wanted to wake up with Pitch next to him. A brief moment of worry passed where he thought Pitch left without him, only for its flame to be extinguished when Pitch came through the door with a tray of sweets and drinks. Jack heaved a mental sigh of relief and lays his cheek down on his hand, giving a smile.

 

“Hey.” Pitch looks up at his voice and smiles back, setting the tray down on the nightstand before sitting himself on the edge of the bed.

 

“Hey, yourself.” Pitch’s hand is raised, pushing some bangs back needlessly behind Jack’s ear and Jack turns his head to kiss his wrist, feeling the heat radiate off him. He had nearly missed the look on Pitch’s face. 

 

“What is it?” Jack asked, sitting up a little more in worry. Pitch looked hesitant, melancholic, unsure; Pitch had never seemed like any one of those things since he had woken up. 

 

Another moment of silence passed before Pitch gathered enough courage to speak.

 

“I’ve decided, Jack.” 

 

Jack’s heart stuttered in his chest and he sat up more, scooting closer to Pitch as the words sit ominously on his chest. But even though it sat ominously on his chest like a heavy weight, Jack had already decided he’d follow Pitch to the ends of the earth. He’d meant what he’d said. 

 

“What have you decided?” Jack nearly whispered, throat suddenly parched. Another moment of stillness where Pitch wrings gently at his own fingers. 

 

“I won’t be joining the Lunanoff army again,” Pitch started quietly and Jack held his breath. This was good news, he mentally sighed, but Pitch wouldn't have this sense of foreboding if he didn’t have anything else to say. “I’ve decided to go back.” 

 

Jack furrowed his brows. Back to  _ where? _

 

“I’ve decided to become the Nightmare King.”

 

Jack felt the air stolen from his lungs in a split second.  _ Why? _ Why would he want to do that? He could understand Pitch’s hesitation, why he seemed almost loath to tell him this. Jack’s jaw dropped, working but no sound coming out. Pitch hadn’t glanced at him once since he announced it. 

 

_ Look at me. Tell me why. _

 

But Pitch didn't look at him, still wringing out his fingers, lips pursed as if this was the hardest decision of his life. As if he  _ knows  _ Jack wouldn’t go with him should he be the Nightmare King again. 

 

“The world needs one.” Pitch said quietly. “Far better it be me than some other.” 

 

That self-sacrificing  _ martyr. _ Jack’s blood felt hot and cold at once. Pitch spoke as if he knew what Jack wanted, what he’d be willing to do. 

 

“I’m sorry.” Pitch spoke and Jack yelled at his mind to say something. “I wanted to tell you before I left… I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.” Pitch looked at him, then, resignation in his eyes and Jack finally kicked his brain to action. He covered Pitch’s hand with his, keeping eye contact.

 

“I’m going with you.” 

 

Pitch’s surprise was evident, but even then he didn’t seem over the moon about it, so to speak.

 

_ “What? _ Jack—“ 

 

“Don’t.” Jack held his eye, pushing purpose and his own resolution steadfast in his gaze. How could Pitch even  _ think _ about leaving, being sad Jack won’t come with, and then being  _ shocked  _ that Jack would choose to go with him? Although he can kind of understand, who would want to be tied to the Nightmare King? Who would willingly do so? 

 

Jack would. 

 

Pitch fought with some internal struggle, seeming to work through the situation and conflict in his mind before he sighs hard through his mouth and hugs Jack to him, nearly crushing him. 

 

“Of all the incredibly stupid, preposterous, absurd, ludicrous, _senseless_ things I have heard in my entire life, that has got to be, _by far,_ _the_ most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard anyone say.” Jack smiles a bit because, yeah, it kind of is. Pitch holds him tight, like he’s afraid to let go, like Jack could disappear any second. Jack leans into him, nose slotting against the dip in the juncture of his shoulder and neck like he was meant to fit there. 

 

When Pitch let go of him, it was only enough so he could tilt Jack’s head back and kiss him fiercely. Jack hums happily into the kiss, loosely keeping his arms around Pitch’s waist. 

 

“Are you sure, Jack..?” Pitch asks as he pulls away. Of course, Pitch would never want to condemn him to a life of solitude like what is fated for the Nightmare King, and yet, it seems that Pitch cannot put up a fight for Jack to leave him. Jack counts that as a win in his book, that he’d managed to worm his way inside Pitch’s walls so tightly that he couldn't even muster up the necessary fight. 

 

Manipulative? Maybe. But is it manipulation if this is best for all parties involved?

 

“I’m sure.” Jack smiles, pressing Pitch’s hand closer when it caressed his cheek. Pitch leans for another kiss, so tender but intent, and no less fierce despite the softness. 

 

They broke apart in alarm when the door bursts open. Bunny stood there, jaw dropping in surprise. Jack stares back for a half second before realizing—

 

_ “Fuck!” _ Bunny practically squeaks and slams the door shut.

 

If Jack wasn’t so embarrassed as he covers himself up with the blankets, he would’ve been entertained at the idea that, that was the first time he had heard Bunny actually curse. Be it as it may, his cheeks burned, both in embarrassment and in irritation at Bunny interrupting what could have possibly been a prelude to extra rounds of last night. Pitch seemed equally as irked, he was glad to see, leaning as if to cover Jack from Bunny’s gaze as much as possible. 

 

Seeing as how Bunny didn’t barge in a second time (wisely, might he add), Jack could only imagine him standing on the other side of the door, mind thrown out the window at what he’d born witness to. But that was okay.

 

“What will you do?” Pitch asks quietly, looking back at Jack once he’d figured there will be no more interruptions. Jack wanted to ask what he means by that before it dawned on him. 

 

More than likely, once Pitch takes the supposed throne back, they would become “enemies” of the guardians, and Jack would no longer be able to see them. The decision itself sat a little heavier on his mind but, really, would it be that bad? Furthermore, if he should say his goodbyes… Jack shook his head. That wouldn’t be wise. Jack slipped his legs off the bed, feeling the soreness in his hips and relishing in it. 

 

“Clothes?”

 

Pitch provides them out of thin air, his normal outfit freshly laundered like he’d just taken it out from North’s drier. Jack slips on his clothes and he wasn’t that shy to admit he saw Pitch watching him, and that he may or may not have put them on a little slower when he’d recognized the heated gaze on him. Jack grabs his staff, stuffing one hand into his pocket and feeling the small wooden toy he’d kept there for all these years. 

 

Carefully, he pulls it out and stares at the baby matryoshka with his face of joy and for a moment he became nostalgic and was almost loath to part with it. Then he turns and sets it on the nightstand, stuffs a cookie from the tray into his mouth and practically swallows it whole. Pitch was watching him, amused, as he started to stand. 

 

Jack smiles, taking a breath and letting it go— his life,  _ this life, _ being guardian— with the next breath he exhaled as he took Pitch’s hand, tugging him closer. Pitch went without much prompting, Jack needing to crane his head up to meet his eyes. 

 

“Take me home.”


	2. Chapter 2

The lair was as droll as it always had been. It was dark and damp, dust lining the cages and the floor. It was to be expected, it hadn’t been used in nearly two decades following Pitch’s coma. Jack makes a face of distaste at the floor as he stepped onto a lit area but says nothing as he looks around. 

 

The place itself held little warm memories for him. Jack had only been there thrice: when Pitch had first tricked him, then when he liberated the Baby Tooths, and then finally, following Pitch’s demise when he sought him out years later and found nothing but a husk of his former nemesis. 

 

Jack walked the path of the lit corridor, Pitch no doubt doing the same as he takes in the scene. He doubted this lair held many warm memories for Pitch, either. This lair was what stole his life; his very duty that chained him to this place became a prison in his mind when the malady of the nightmare men poisoned him. And then he was forced into isolation. Jack doesn’t blame the Pitch of old at his risky and desperate attempts to be believed in. 

 

Isolation does something to people. Human or not. The spirit longs for connections, for companionship. This longing extends to everyone, no matter their walk of life. 

 

A minute flash caught his eye. Jack pauses, furrowing his brow as he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary at first glance. Coming closer, he crouches by the edge of the light and picks up something off the floor. 

 

In his palm rested a locket that started it all. Carefully he wipes the layers of dust off the silver top, eyes following the detailed carvings of a dragon. With nimble fingers, Jack pops it open at the clasp, roughened with disuse and dust and with the same gentleness he wiped off the dust off the photograph lovingly placed in the locket. His heart ached as he noticed how Seraphina held her father’s eyes, the depth of black of his hair, the shape of his brow. Jack takes a moment to compose himself.

 

“Pitch..” Jack closes his fingers around the locket, sealing the photo in its depths again. Pitch makes an inquisitive noise before coming over. Jack looks up to watch Pitch’s face as he holds up his hand, opening his fingers like a flower in bloom to reveal the treasure he’d found. He watches as Pitch’s eyes widen, fingers hesitating as they touch the locket that was lost to the ages. They tremble imperceptibly as Pitch takes the locket to prise it open. 

 

Jack could only imagine the depths of his feelings. He may have lived a long life, but he doubts it was anywhere near Pitch’s lifeline. Pitch—  _ Kozmotis Pitchiner, _ was always a pillar of strength. To see that strength crumble like a sand castle under the ocean waves was not something Jack had been prepared to see, even if he knew he would. 

 

This little locket— it was only a few inches tall. It bore the weight of a thousand suns, the last and only remaining picture of his daughter. 

 

Pitch’s eyes glaze over and he closes his fingers around the locket. Jack steps closer, Pitch’s arm coming to rest around his waist and Jack hugs him close, fingers running through Pitch’s hair. Jack had never been what one would consider a pillar of strength. But this time, he will be. For Pitch. He may not know what this new life has in store for them, but he knows they’ll be fine so long as they have each other. 


	3. Chapter 3

Koz had spent nearly a month brewing up ways to convert energy to match his current description.  _ Fear _ was not his inherent ability, nor did he ever in his lifetime before his fall used it to gain power. His ability was  _ shadows, _ and with that, he was already more powerful than any being. There are as many more shadows than there are lights themselves. The entire universe covers it; a blanket of black, through which he could just as easily slip into it and end up on the other side. 

 

The trick with fear, is that it all… tastes different, should he say. The purest form of fear, which was also the sweetest, he had found in newborns. Not that he wants to go around scaring newborns, but that newborns are born with two and only two innate fears: falling and the sound of loud noises. They have not yet learned to fear anything else, which makes their fear the purest and sweetest form. He wouldn’t even need to use nightmares for it. The child will naturally experience these fears as they grow and explore.

 

That can’t really sustain him, however, but does he really need all that excess power if he’s trying to play with balancing scales? Of course, he could also just have all that power and not  _ use it. _ However Koz also knows that power corrupts and thus is hesitant in gaining that much power. 

 

As the child grows up, their fears are learned and each fear ages like fine wine. And still, many of the fears of children are still so… innocent. They fear the dark, the monsters that hide within them; they fear jump-scares and ugly creatures and unnatural-looking things, and then, too, Koz needn’t try too hard to feed on those fears. 

 

Of course, there are also those fears that come about throughout the child’s life when they are faced with tragedy and trauma, the fears Koz would rather keep away from because though energy is strong, it’s also as bitter as burnt sugar, cloying and choking and definitely not one for the palette, but besides that, though Koz was  _ playing _ villain, he was not a villain himself. Certainly, he couldn’t control the Nightmare Men as he is and he’d rather not control them anyway. Converting certain energy they gain into his own should be plenty. And those who were too strong— not for Koz, of course, but in the generality of the Nightmare Men— Koz could always just stuff them into a cage far away in the lair. 

 

There was, again, the need for upkeep of the said prisoners, helped along with the crystals Koz had obtained on his quick track along the shadows of his old constellation. Many didn’t know of it, precisely because of the desolation it resides in from a previous war, but Alnitak holds precious crystals that were as dark as the universe with galaxies trapped inside. At least, that was their outward appearance. Alnitak crystals may look dark, but they hold more light than Lananoff’s armies. 

 

Koz taps his index finger on the armrest of his “throne.” His nails  _ tap-tap-taping _ away as he thought. Everything seems to be coming together seamlessly and while he thinks it best to not look a gift horse in the mouth, it is also pertinent to continue with caution. The lair was less dilapidated than before, a thorough cleaning will do that to a lair. And with the edition of the Alnitak crystals, somehow sprouting in corners of the rooms and hallways to illuminate the way where light didn’t touch it with gentle hues of purple, it seemed more homey. 

 

The globe sat where it always did and he had to wonder in his idle time, when the past him had even acquired it. He certainly didn’t have it when he was still general and his lair was still a prison. It was even imbued with the same magic that covered North’s globe that allowed him to view all the children who believed in the guardians. And then it comes to mind to ask: all of the guardians? Where does this globe differentiate between guardians and their powers? Their levels of belief? Even now, as the lights twinkle brighter like fireflies across the metal surface, Jack sleeps in their bedroom. He’s taking to sleeping for twelve hours at a stretch and it’s gotten to the point Koz is becoming more worried. From what he remembers, what the other guardians told him while Jack slumbered at the North Pole, was Jack had started to dwindle in his duties a few years after his first defeat. 

 

From what he recalls, the time period between his defeat and his first awakening was fifteen years. Following a scant few months of being awake, the Guardians shot him with the arrow and he fell into a deep slumber of seventeen years (apparently, Jack had been counting) in which Jack didn’t do anything but stay at his bedside until he woke up. For thirty-two years, Jack did nothing. He had already been at the precipice of slumbering for lengths at a time to conserve energy when Koz woke up, and even though he urges Jack to go spread some cheer while he works his magic (so to speak), Jack just shrugs and falls back asleep. 

 

Maybe it was Koz’s fault that he wasn’t more firm with the winter spirit; he had always had a soft spot unruly children. But now wasn’t the time to reflect and berate himself. With a breath, he stood from his throne and grabbed the cloak hung upon hooks along a nearby wall. Easily, he shifted through the shadows to their bedroom, eyeing Jack’s body under the thin sheets. Jack wouldn’t wake for another few hours, if memory serves, so he gingerly untucked him from the ball he’d made himself into and picked him up. 

 

Here’s to hoping he won’t be killed on sight. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Ask nicely and thou shalt receive._
> 
> _Sorry about the wait guys. Enjoy!_

Jack was actually proud of himself, for how much he’s actually grown and matured. He’d grown up more in thirty years than he has for the three hundred-plus years he’s been alive. He’s learned to take labels like  _ good _ and  _ evil _ with a grain of salt. He’s learned that people are not their past, nor are they their mistakes and that the leopard can, in fact, change its spots. 

 

Jack has also learned that  _ darkness _ is not synonymous with  _ evil. _ Even if he may be the only one who thinks so, there are no such clear-cut lines between good and evil. It was only when they had first defeated the Nightmare King did he start thinking about such things. 

 

What determines whether one is good or bad? Is it a question of morals or ethics? Does it include character, intentions? Do they look at the person as a whole, or in compartments? Do they think someone is beyond redemption? Do they think that the person who is bad is  _ inherently  _ bad? That they enjoy spreading malice? 

 

While Jack agrees there are such psychopaths roaming the earth, he believes that many are people forced into such tumultuous situations that force them to behave in such a fashion. In Pitch’s situation, that premise rang true. Pitch as he is now is vastly different from the Nightmare King they’d first gotten acquainted with. 

 

It was exactly this that let him agree so easily to go with Pitch though he chose to go back to being the Nightmare King. He’s matured enough to learn that the world is entirely lived in the grey and him tagging along does not make him evil by proxy. Nor does it mean, or would ever mean that Pitch would become a tyrant hellbent on power if such a situation never happens again. 

 

Pitch is far more mature than he, anyway. Dare he say, far more mature than all the Guardians? For how long they’ve actually known each other, Jack scarcely knows their past, their history. How early in the game they became Guardians and how old they were, how mature they were.

 

These thoughts come unbidden right before he wakes up from the limbo of sleep, toeing the precipice of consciousness when he realizes he has a choice of continuing to dream or getting up from the comfort of his chilled bed. He doesn’t hate it, though, this introspection. Jack sees it as a necessary part of maturing and growing up, something he’d lacked for the better half of three hundred years. It was good it happened right after he learned he was about to wake up, because unlike his dreams which he forgets a majority of in the first half hour he spent awake, he remembers these conversations with himself. 

 

_ “I didn’t come here to fight.” _ That was Pitch’s voice, wasn’t it?  _ “I was worried.” _ A pause.  _ “Actually, Sandy would have been a better option, but you will do.”  _

 

Jack’s eyes opened, sight caught on the burning log fireplace lined with red bricks and for a moment he wondered when the hell they got that in their bedroom before he realized it looked so damn familiar. Furrowing his brow, he sat up and felt the cloak that was placed on him slide down to his waist. 

 

This was definitely North’s workshop he was at and for a brief moment he wondered if he was still dreaming. Every once in a while he had dreams where the other Guardians would grace him with their presence. 

 

The whispers he had heard stalled and Jack looked over the back of the couch he was laid on to see Pitch and North at the opening of the loft, Pitch leaning back against the frame of the open space and North just to his right. 

 

“Jack,” Pitch’s voice was filled with relief as he uncrossed his arms and strolled the few extra steps to the back of the couch, heated hands caressing his cheek and Jack leaned into it, confused about a lot of things but letting it sit on the backburner while he indulged himself with Pitch’s touch. 

 

“Hey. G’morning.” Jack nuzzled into his palm, voice laden with sleep. He yawned as he stretched out, arm stretching up while his legs stretched out, letting the cloak slide off. It was a nifty little thing, charmed to keep Jack cool at the worst of times. Sitting up, he surveyed his surroundings. Yup. Definitely North’s workshop. Which begs the question,  _ why? _ “What’re we doing here?” He asks after a moment, looking back over the couch to North and giving a wave. “Hey North.” He greets, watching as North’s lips pursed against saying anything. 

 

Of course, he kinda knew their reunion would be awkward and tension-filled. Jack did disappear from their lives rather abruptly. He wasn’t prepared to meet them ever, and yet here he was. Because of Pitch. A reason he hasn’t yet made into an equation but there was no use in letting his initial emotions get the best of him (surprise, anger, confusion, betrayal maybe) without knowing Pitch’s reasons first. 

 

See how much he’s grown up? 

 

“Jack.” North decided on the greeting, curt and filled with emotions that Jack probably deserved given how he left. Pitch spared a glance to North who kept his mouth firmly shut before looking back to Jack. 

 

“I was worried.” Pitch said, though it was carefully, as if he was waiting for Jack to blow up at being brought back to the Guardians and maybe, once upon a time (probably just half a year ago) Jack probably would have. The last outburst Jack had had was when he’d expressed to Pitch how he felt becoming a Guardian was the biggest mistake he’d ever made and that wasn’t that long ago, all things considered. 

 

Jack took a moment to let his statement sink in, working through his thoughts as to why Pitch had reason to worry. In himself, there  _ was _ no reason to worry. Everything seemed completely put into order. But maybe that surveyance was through the lense of someone inexperienced. What could Pitch possibly see in him that would cause worry?

 

“You’ve been sleeping a lot.” Pitch began again, tone still careful: worry at the edges of his tone but with a certain distance as if gouging Jack’s reaction. Jack hadn’t really thought he’d been sleeping a lot. In all honesty, the sleeping helped him sort out his thoughts and he hadn’t really slept all those years watching over Pitch so to him, it was a necessity. It wasn’t like they have a clock in their room, so it truly could be worrying for him to keep on sleeping like he was. Seeing how Jack was processing the information and has yet to react unfavorably, to which Pitch would have to calm him down, Pitch deigned it safe enough to continue. “I was concerned it might’ve been because of the lack of belief from children.” 

 

Jack purses his lips against the first instinct to spit out a defense:  _ I told you I’m fine, why would you bring me back?  _ That statement in itself was unneeded and would go unheeded by the other party. Worry itself was unprecedented, but he’d listen to Pitch’s reasons. A mature person would do that, wouldn’t they?

 

_ Death and life lie in the power of the tongue,  _ and all that. 

 

Carefully, he speaks, “I’m sorry for worrying you.” He makes sure to make eye contact with Pitch, and then North afterwords, finally putting a name to the tension in his facial muscles. Jack looks back to Pitch before looking around again. 

 

“It’s only North here,” Pitch answers him without him having to question it. “I thought the others would only cause more headaches were they informed.” And man, wasn’t that the truth. Two people needlessly concerned about his well-being was enough. Though the needless part was up to debate. Tooth would let out too much anxiety, easily seen by the beat of her wings and the pitch of her voice. Bunny would  _ completely _ overreact and then berate him for his decisions which, although Jack was a hair’s breadth more mature than he was a few months ago, he has yet to figure out how to set clear boundaries and keep them without throwing a fit when he spoke to Bunny. 

 

“Thanks.” Jack throws him a grateful look as he stands, letting the cloak fall to the couch. Well, let’s not make this any more awkward, shall they? Jack rounds on the couch, coming to be between the two, standing more near Pitch as was the custom for him since he’d woken up. “I’m awake now. So, can I be apart of this conversation?”


End file.
